The Dubious Art of Lying
by messyhead
Summary: Jaime is sent to a hotel in Colorado to keep an eye on the boss, and so begin a string of misadventures. I would really appreciate a comment or review if you have it in you. It's nice to know there's an audience out there...otherwise I wonder why I do it!
1. Chapter 1

In a trim grey suit and dark horn rimmed glasses, Jaime looked every inch a real secretary. The glasses were the final touch - and though they lent her an appropriately studious air, when the magnificent white edifice of the McCready hotel came into view in the distance she saw it through a smudgy, streaky haze. A real secretary would surely clean her glasses.

She swung the rental car around to the entrance, and before she knew it she was standing at the front desk, having been relieved of both car and bags by fit and cheerful young men in grey and black uniforms.

It was a little odd not knowing what exactly was up, but at this moment she wasn't complaining. She knew her main purpose was to keep Oscar safe from some as yet unexplained menace - Russ told her the boss himself would illuminate her. He had handed her one of the new tiny datacoms, said that help was minutes away if she needed it, and packed her off to Colorado - to the McCready hotel.

And what a hotel it was – built in the grand style in 1899 by an eccentric who had made a fortune in copper - a massive, rambling edifice, tucked away in the Colorado Rockies. It was only open in late spring, summer, and early fall – keeping the roads cleared of snow in winter was practically impossible.

The young man at the reception desk was similarly bright eyed and enthusiastic, and in a few minutes the bellhop was leading her to her room, beaming at her from under his ludicrous pillbox bellhop hat.

As she pressed a tip into his palm, she commented that he was part of the most exuberant hotel staff she had ever seen, and he explained they were all students, working here during the summers so they could take advantage of the unbeatable hiking and mountain climbing on their days off. Jaime was momentarily envious, remembering her own easygoing college days.

After wiping her glasses and tidying her hair, she set out to find Oscar. She knew he had a meeting set for later in the day, so presumably he was at loose ends till then – if Oscar was capable of being at loose ends. He was not in his room, which left her with the daunting prospect of finding him in one of the many huge communal areas that made up much of the building – if he was even inside. There was a library and a ballroom and a lounge, two dining rooms and a sunroom - not to mention the numerous nooks and crannies designed for introverted guests to nestle into with a good book. The hotel had gone through a make over in the fifties, and it was now overdue for another. Threadbare and outdated, it was like a favorite pair of shoes that had once been worn on formal occasions and were now more suited for a walk to the coffee shop. She liked the place better for it.

The exploration was enjoyable, so she wasn't discouraged when she didn't find Oscar right away. The hotel was lively but not, she guessed, filled to capacity. There were a number of families, a gaggle of rugged looking senior citizens, an awestruck tour group from Japan, and a few packs of serious looking men and women in suits, presumably engaged in some sort of business. What or who in this environment could Oscar possibly need protection _from_?

Finally, in the back of the big white breakfast room, she saw a solitary figure, mostly hidden by an open newspaper, coffee cooling on the table beside him. She didn't need a closer look to identify him – she knew those long legs and big feet so well.

"Mr. Goldman?"

The paper dropped, revealing an astonished face. His mouth was already set in position to say the word _What…_ doubtless to be followed by _are you doing here?_ but he said nothing as he sized her up, his expression becoming more bemused as he assessed her outfit.

"Miss…?" he asked finally.

"Sumner. I'm sorry sir. I realized after you'd left that I hadn't given you the complete package of documents you needed for the meeting."

"Really?" He glanced around the room. There were enough people nearby to preclude any sort of discussion there. "Well, Miss Sumner, I was just about to take a stroll in the great outdoors. Perhaps you would care to join me."

"Yes, sir."

Stepping outside into the clean mountain air and bright morning sun, they both breathed deeply at exactly the same time.

"Okay, so why are you really here?" Oscar asked, once they were out of earshot of the hotel.

Jaime did a quick turn to make sure no one was following them. "Russ. He was worried - he said you were here alone and he wasn't happy about it. So…what's the deal? He didn't tell me what it was about – he said you would."

"He did, did he?" Oscar grumbled. "I might as well have hired my mother, the way that guy fusses. You shouldn't be here and he knows that - I had specific instructions to come alone, and as I am trying to demonstrate trustworthiness, your presence could blow the whole thing."

"Well, just the fact that you were asked to come alone tells me that you shouldn't have." Jaime replied reprovingly. She was often startled by Oscar's lapses in caution – particularly regarding his own safety. It was one of his well known quirks.

"Jaime, I am not entirely unprepared." he retorted, as though he had heard her internal musings. "I had Intelligence go over the whole situation with a fine tooth comb, and they gave me the go ahead."

"Well," Jaime shrugged defiantly, "it couldn't be helped. Being your new secretary and all, I made a mistake, didn't I?"

"Uh huh."

"So are you going to fill me in? I'm here. I might as well do my job."

Oscar frowned and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I don't know…"

"You're not getting rid of me, so come on – out with it."

"You're not coming to the meeting."

"Yes I am. Now why don't you tell me what it's all about?"

He cast his eyes over the mountains, and set his jaw. "It's…it's the…uh…weather control device… Dr. Franklin's weather control device."

"What?!" Jaime gasped. The very mention of the infamous Dr. Franklin made her shudder. "That project is dead, isn't it? What about it?"

Oscar glanced at her uneasily. He knew exactly what her reaction would be, but somehow he had to see it anyway. It was like prodding a sore tooth. She suddenly seemed a couple of inches taller, and her face, which was usually animated in some way, dropped all expression. Even though there was no frown, no grimace, no gritted teeth, she still managed to look incredibly disapproving, and worse yet - disappointed. He felt shifty and shameful, as though he were sitting in a very small desk, his head bowed over the exam he'd cheated on, Miss Sommers looming over him. _And how are you going to explain this, not-so-young man?!_

He cleared his throat. "Franklin evidently had a partner, whom he alienated before they could complete their work together - a couple of years before Franklin started work at the OSI. He naturally thought he could solve all the problems with the device himself - but as we know, he couldn't."

"No kidding. So you're meeting this partner." Jaime said, unable to hide her distaste. "Alone. And why haven't you known about him before now?"

Oscar shot Jaime a resentful look. "Franklin used to pull stunts like this. He had people working with him, but he kept them hidden away so that he could absorb all credit – part of that debilitating egotism he suffered from. So this is not really a surprise. This man – Doctor Milo Prochazka – has been lying low since the Franklin debacle, precisely because he felt that he and his work were tainted by association. He finally got up the guts to call me a couple of months ago. And yes, by the way, his name is Czech," he added, preempting her next question, "but he has lived in upstate New York for most of his life - and he's a citizen."

"Why here?" she asked, gesturing around her. "It's isolated. I don't like it."

"He's skittish. He thinks everyone is after him – the Soviets, the CIA. I've worked long and hard to get him to trust me, and as he was comfortable meeting here, I agreed."

"So what wondrous thing is this man is going to do for our country?"

"Prochazka's work centers on the _control_ part of the equation – in effect making a limiter as to how far the device can be pushed, and also a predictor of effects of whatever weather system it creates. Before he can finish though, he needs Franklin's plans to integrate the system."

Jaime had hardly registered what he had said. "Oscar," she said emphatically, "I thought that program was through. It's dangerous…you _know _it's dangerous. Not to mention _wrong_…and crazy! And now you're reviving it? I can't believe you're doing this."

"Try to look like it's _me_ chewing _you_ out, will you?" Oscar said, glancing back over his shoulder.

"Sorry." she muttered, dropping her head and sloping her shoulders into a more apologetic pose. "Don't forget I've been subjected to that weather device, and it wasn't pretty. And besides - it's weather. We have no _right_ to control the weather. It belongs to everybody - like water and air."

Oscar hated defending himself and as a rule tried to do it as little as possible - it only sounded desperate. But when it came to Jaime, he couldn't help himself. "Imagine the good it could do." he protested, "Droughts, floods, hurricanes, tornadoes…could all be nipped in the bud, before they caused damage."

"And they all could be turned up to cause maximum damage too."

He could hardly argue with that. "True."

"Well then why are you doing this?" she blurted, entirely forgetting that she was supposed to look humbled.

"Somebody is going to develop this technology. Would you prefer the Soviets got it first?"

"I would prefer nobody got it first. It's just wrong!" Jaime protested.

"Well be that as it may, somebody _will_ get to it first!" Oscar replied, his voice rising in frustration. "Listen, I would love to live in the same world of moral certainty you do, but I don't. The plain fact is that I have a Presidential order to pursue this damned thing, and it's not something I can ignore."

"I know, I know." she grumbled, rolling her eyes. The slight guilt she felt for needling him into anger was combined with an odd satisfaction. Though she was reluctant to admit it, she liked knowing that she could get to him – that he was not impervious to her influence.

They walked in silence a few moments, and then with an odd calm, Oscar said, "The President may want my head served up on a platter if I don't come through for him."

"Really? Why?"

"Blew my budget again this year. Nobody is amused."

"Your life is just a laugh a minute, isn't it?"

"Look…I know it's not admirable." Oscar replied, finding himself on the defensive again. "It's a lot of bartering and back scratching and I just try to make it all come out on the right side of the ledger in the end."

She supposed she did have influence over him - Lord knew he didn't have to explain anything to her. He was one of the most powerful men in the country, and she was just an uppity schoolteacher. "I know it's tough." she conceded. "I know you do your best. I promise won't cause you_ any _trouble. And you know," she added after a pause, raising her eyebrows, "there might be certain compensations to having me here."

"Such as?" Oscar asked, regarding her carefully from the corner of his eye.

"We have a couple of hours before the meeting?"

He checked his watch. "Yeah. We meet at two."

"Well then, um, if you're not busy… I have a very nice collection of etchings in my room, and you might like to see them." She gave him a knowing smile, which stopped him in his tracks.

"Etchings? I thought you might be too disgusted with me to…uh… talk art."

"You _know_ how much I love art." she replied, and they simultaneously did an about face back to the hotel.


	2. Chapter 2

She unlocked the door of her room, walked in, and turned to face him, the same secret smile curling her lips. The moment the latch clicked into place, Oscar slipped his arms around her, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"So for once I get to fog up _your _glasses." Before she could respond he huffed two short breaths at the lenses, and while her vision was still misty, he kissed her. Giggly and exhilarated, she threw her arms around his neck.

It was a mission a few years ago that got it all started. They rolled into her apartment after an insane afternoon of revealing traitors, rescuing her reputation, and nearly being blown to kingdom come by an exploding safe. Extremely relieved and more than a little giddy, they were horsing around, (she had just been teasing him about wanting a raise, and he clobbered her with a pillow) and she was suddenly completely overcome by the urge to kiss him. So she did. In the next few minutes Oscar made a couple of halfhearted attempts to disentangle himself, but his self discipline melted like butter in the sun. One thing led to another, and now, here they were - friends, colleagues, and occasional lovers. When they were in the same place at the same time, they shared meals, chatted comfortably, and when the opportunity arose, they closed the door to the rest of the world and fell into each other's arms.

In those intimate moments, there were no protestations of love; they made no plans – and they muted the tenderness and ardor they felt for each other with jokes and teasing. They talked about many things, from the banal to the philosophical, but they never spoke of their lives in relation to each other. They were simply two single people, occasionally enjoying physical intimacy together. Not one of their friends knew the extent of their relationship, though the complicity between them was obvious to everyone.

An hour later Oscar had dressed and returned to his room to review his documents for the meeting. Jaime, not wishing to linger in the afterglow alone, showered, ironed the wrinkles out of her suit, and went down to the grand sunroom on the south side of the building. It was empty except for an elderly couple seated on a big couch, each soberly regarding their sections of the newspaper through the bottoms of their bifocals.

She sat in a creaky wicker chair that faced out to the view, and for the first time she took real notice of the two giant rounded rocks that blocked the sky on the left of the vista. How odd that the hotel had been built right next to them. Odder still, she mused, that amongst the jagged peaks, those smooth boulders sat in the valley like eggs in a nest. Could they be volcanic? For the hundredth time she made a mental note to learn more about geology. In the meantime, she would ask Oscar – he would know.

_Oh, Oscar_ – there was no denying she was feeling wistful, and he was the cause. Maybe it was time she faced up to facts. He meant more to her than he ought to - and that was just no good.

This was the Seventies – she was supposed to be liberated - free to see and sleep with whomever she pleased. Accordingly, she dated a lot, enjoyed herself tremendously, and never got too serious.

How often had she heard the line _Women confuse sex with love_ in the last few years? Right now she was wondering if she had been sold a bill of goods. Weren't sex and love linked together? Sometimes, anyway?

_Maybe I should end it..._ she wondered. Inadvertently, her eyes screwed shut. She forced them open. He was a hopeless cause. Though they were good together, and the physical connection between them was wonderful, there was no doubt in her mind – he might squeeze her into the few open moments of his life, but he loved his work best. He was married to it, after all. What more evidence did she need than the fact that when they were together he always ended up bolting out of bed like he was on fire, anxious to get back to that insane existence of his? She supposed she ought to give him credit for not being controlling or clingy – she appreciated that - but sometimes she _wanted _to cling. No, she was out of sight, out of mind with Oscar.

Her life, she told herself yet again, was waiting out there for her…she just had to find it.

"Excuse me…"

She jumped. When she turned in the direction of the voice, there was a man sitting next to her. It took her a moment to realize he was in a wheelchair.

"I'm sorry," he said with a regretful smile, "I didn't mean to startle you." He was a smallish man, very pale, with sad, intelligent eyes.

"That's all right." To reassure him it really was all right, she sat up and gave him her full attention.

"Do you work here?" he asked carefully, as though she might be startled again. Somewhat unkempt, what remained of his mouse colored hair needed cutting, and he had nicked his chin in two places while shaving.

"No, I'm afraid I don't."

He threw his small hands in the air, as though appalled by his own stupidity. "My apologies - I'm doubly wrong to have interrupted you. It must be your attire – you don't quite look like a guest."

"Well, that's because I'm not, I guess. I am working - but not for the hotel… well, not at this instant, but I will be later." How she hated it when she offered up more than she needed to. She was keenly aware of the light green eyes roving her face – taking in every twitch, every gesture. "It's probably the grey suit – the hotel staff wears grey too. It's an understandable mistake."

"Of course, you're right." He paused, his eyes resting comfortably on hers. "And…the work is not going well? I hope you'll forgive me, but I couldn't help but notice that you look…unhappy."

Jaime wondered momentarily if this was an arty pick up, but his manner suggested it was not. "Actually, it's more like regret. In fact, I'm in the doghouse. I forgot to give my boss some of the papers he needed for a meeting here, so I had to come all the way out here to deliver them. He was none too happy about it…and I'm new to the job and now I guess I'm wondering if I'm cut out for it."

"You'll be all right." he said, with a reassuring smile. "It's always hard when you're starting out. Experience is the best teacher, if not the most pleasant way to learn."

"Ain't that the truth!" she laughed. "I just hope I don't get fired before I collect all the experience I need. Or…" she mused, "maybe I _want_ to be fired…" It amazed her how easily this fiction was rolling off her tongue, and how true it felt.

"But you're still here." The man pointed out encouragingly. "You haven't been sent home in disgrace."

"No you're right." Jaime admitted. "I'm pretty lucky, I guess. He decided I could be helpful later…and getting to come to this beautiful place…it's not so terrible, is it?"

The man twisted in his chair to face her better. He seemed to want to engage, as though he had found a sympathetic spirit. "Don't you think that when you're someplace truly beautiful – like this – you wonder about all your decisions? A landscape like this can make one wonder about the course of one's entire life. Is it going in the direction it ought to? I wonder if I lived here if I would actually be a better person." He shook his head slowly in contemplation of the question.

Jaime gazed out to the snowy mountains, so huge, so impassive - and so humbling. "I know what you mean."

"I've always loved the outdoors. I used to come out west all the time to camp and hike - to be closer to nature - but…not anymore."

Jaime was hard pressed to know what to say, assuming he was referring to his disability. "Well… this is a lovely alternative. That ground gets pretty hard in the middle of the night. Cold too."

He smiled at her, appreciative of her attempt at consolation. "I also come to take the waters – I know, I know," he added, as though he expected her to object, "a hopelessly old fashioned notion. But I sit for in the springs and it gives me the illusion that I feel better."

Jaime nodded and frowned sympathetically.

"I can see you're too polite to ask – it's multiple sclerosis. A steady downhill trip, I'm afraid."

"Oh, I'm so sorry." Jaime said, and she was.

"Well, I won't take up any more of your time." he said, suddenly cheerful, " – except to ask you - even though you don't work here - do you know where the dining room is?"

"As a matter of fact I do." Jaime replied, pleased to be helpful in some small way. She got up, pointed him in the correct direction, and watched him slowly wheel away from her.

She had banished her melancholy by the time she knocked on Oscar's door. He was in the middle of putting on his tie, and was now in full work mode – deadly serious and deeply preoccupied. There were no smiles, no jokes, and no intimacy between them now.

"I'm coming to the meeting." she said quickly, as though she could rush the idea past all his objections, straight to acceptance.

"I know."

"You're not going to kick up a stink?"

"I know a losing battle when I see one."

The meeting place was a small lounge on the same floor - an elegant room with large windows and a lovely view, meant for private parties and sparkling conversation. The hotel had provided coffee and sandwiches, and placed them on the big coffee table, along with a bouquet of fresh flowers. Flowers and Intelligence just didn't go together. Normally a symbol of innocence and purity, all Jaime could think was that a bouquet made an ideal hiding place for a microphone.

They were the first to arrive. Oscar was clearly anxious, jamming his hands in his pockets and pacing the edge of the room. She was about to say something soothing when from the door she heard a newly familiar voice.

"Well, well!" It was the man in the wheelchair, and he was looking at Jaime and smiling. "Now I get the picture."

"Dr. Prochazka?" Oscar said, advancing toward him, "I'm sorry about this, I –"

"I know. It's fine." The little man said, waving aside Oscar's concerns, "We met downstairs, the young lady and I." He shook both Oscar's and Jaime's hands, his grip light and tentative. The pleasantries lasted a few minutes, and followed a familiar pattern. Oscar, being the one to court Prochazka, opened the conversation with profuse compliments, followed by solid reassurances as to the doctor's safety and wellbeing. The other man responded with tentative compliments to Oscar and the OSI. He expressed regrets over past mistakes, sorrow over the fall of Dr. Franklin, some grave misgivings about his own future, and the desire to give Oscar whatever he wanted - provided a few conditions were met. Oscar then moved on to the concrete offer – a fully equipped lab at the OSI, as much technical support as he needed, a place to live, a handsome salary, and round the clock protection if he desired it.

Jaime watched the two men closely, while pretending to take notes in the small book she had brought with her. Prochazka gazed at Oscar in that same mild, attentive way he had looked at her earlier, and she knew exactly what he saw in front of him – a bureaucrat in a dark suit - imposing, humorless, earnest, opaque - and powerful. Oscar reeked of power. That was how she herself had regarded him when they first met, but now she knew better. He was playing a part – a carefully crafted 'commanding persona' to disguise the real man - who was gentle, warm, funny, oddly goofy, and even a little uncertain of himself. He put on a good performance – she had to give him that.

"That's an excellent offer, Mr. Goldman. It will be an enormous relief for me to get back to work again. I have been at a standstill since Dr. Franklin burned out in his dramatic way, and it has been extremely frustrating." A hesitant smile flicked across his face and turned quickly to an anxious frown. "I wonder if it is possible for you to do something else for me?"

"What's that?"

"I have a brother," Prochazka said, as though making a confession, "and I very much wish to see him again. He is my only remaining family, and that is important to me, even though we are strangers to one another. As you know, I am from Czechoslovakia, which, when I was born, was a great country – full of promise. When the Nazis marched in, my parents wisely decided to get out. The family split up - my father took me, and my mother took my brother - reasoning that if we escaped separately at it was more likely that at least half of us would make it. We were to meet in Dover…but my brother and my mother never arrived. It was impossible to find out what happened to them – especially after the Russians took over. A few years ago, by pulling every string available to me, I discovered that Kazimir was alive. As you might imagine, it has been my dream to get him out. I would like you to help me with that."

Jaime realized she had been holding her breath as Dr. Prochazka spoke –so many people in the world experienced such astonishing hardship in their lives.

Oscar, who had been expecting a more minor demand, nodded quietly. "That could be problematic, but let me look into it. I can't make any promises. We will of course have to investigate your brother thoroughly before we undertake any action."

"Of course - and thank you. It will mean so much to me. Now," he added, "Did you bring the Franklin papers with you?"

"As you requested." Oscar nodded. "And I will hand them to you on the plane -_ if _you agree to accompany me back to Washington. I want you to understand, Doctor, that the papers will always remain physically in the hands of the OSI, and that every time you review them, I or a member of my security team will be present."

Prochazka exhaled, his nostrils flaring slightly, and he said in an aggrieved tone, "Is this a nice way to begin a relationship? Without trust?"

"No, it's not a nice way – but it's the only way." Oscar replied calmly. "I brought the papers in good faith because you made it a prerequisite for the meeting. I did not say I would hand them over. I don't mean to impugn your integrity Doctor, but there are risks I will not take."

"But you don't understand!" Prochazka blurted. "You told me your laboratory is not ready for me yet. I could do wonders in the time it will take you to set up the lab. I am almost there! All I need is the papers - and then it will work! Is time not of the essence?!" Very suddenly he had gone from calm and warm to a little frantic, and Jaime wondered at the change. Was it passion for his work, or something else?

"I'm sorry Doctor." Oscar replied calmly, "It's the best I can do."

Prochazka glared at him. "There is something else, Mr. Goldman - something I fear you will resist." Now he was indignant. "I would like to make it clear that I will not compete with second rate scientists. This is perhaps the one subject on which I am in sympathy with my old colleague Doctor Franklin. He was a terrible man, but a genius – and for you to favor this Dr. Wells and his silly prosthetic program – it boggles the mind. " His manner suggested he thought Dr. Franklin had lost out to a child with a Meccano set. Jaime instantly burned at the affront to her friend. Prochazka folded his hands tidily in front of him and continued. "I wish to have your absolute assurance that my program will take precedence over his. In fact I would prefer it if you were to get rid of him altogether."

Jaime suddenly became aware that she was looking indignant. Fortunately Prochazka was focused on Oscar, who - also fortunately - remained completely impassive. She softened her eyes and smoothed her skirt.

"Anything else?" Oscar asked politely, his voice cool and free of emotion.

"No. That is all." Prochazka replied with a stiff smile, as though aware he had perhaps asked too much.

With that, Oscar rose to his feet. "I will have to make some inquiries to see how far we can comply with your requests, but you have my assurance that I take what you say extremely seriously. I should have some answers for you later today."

They all left the meeting room together, and took the same corridor to their rooms. Arriving at the scientist's room first, they paused at his door.

"Shall we meet again in two hours, Doctor?" Oscar reaffirmed.

Prochazka, now calm and courtly again, nodded soberly. As he reached to unlock his door, Jaime volunteered to open it for him.

"Thank you, Miss Sumner." he smiled uneasily, as though embarrassed by his behavior.

Holding the door open, she handed him the key as he passed.

"Miss Sumner," he said, "you need not attend this second meeting. It can't be very interesting for you."

"I believe that's my decision, Doctor." Oscar replied curtly.

She smiled apologetically and left him, rejoining Oscar, who was looking broody, hands stuffed in his pockets.

As had become her habit, she 'left her ear behind' though she couldn't imagine what she expected to pick up from a man alone in his hotel room. Oscar was murmuring something she wasn't listening to. Instead she was focused entirely on the sound of the wheelchair on the carpet. Though very quiet, it let out a slight metallic hiss as it moved, and the leather seat creaked under his weight. Then the creaks intensified as his weight shifted. She heard him make a slight "humph" sound in his throat – and then she heard … _footsteps_.


	3. Chapter 3

She caught Oscar's arm, and he turned to her. "Walk and talk." she whispered. He nodded his assent and continued slowly down the hall, murmuring notes to an invisible personal assistant.

Then from behind the door was the sound of whistling, and more footsteps. These were not the slow, shuffling movements of a sick man. These were crisp, brisk sounds.

Just then a guest rounded the corner into the hallway, and Jaime instantly launched into an act meant to demonstrate she was having difficulty with the strap of her sandal.

"Mr. Goldman," she called, hobbling in his direction. "Sorry…I missed what you said…my shoe…"

Flinging his hands in the air, he affected impatience. "Miss Sumner…" he reproved. He waited as she hobbled to catch up to him, and then continued, "As I was saying…"

Jaime didn't hear a word. Her mind was racing.

When they reached her room, she unlocked the door and grabbed his sleeve. Practically dragging him in with her, she whispered, "He _walked_ in his room. I heard him. He was walking around!"

"What?" Oscar hissed incredulously.

She nodded firmly. "Footsteps!"

Oscar frowned. "Well… he might be able to walk a little bit, but he has advanced MS, Jaime – I doubt he's running laps in his room."

"Oscar, this was not a shuffle. It was healthy sounding. Cheerful too."

"_Healthy sounding_?" he repeated, his tone skeptical. "Maybe the maid was in the room with him…or somebody else. Maybe he brought someone with him."

She contemplated arguing further, but decided instead to cut to the chase. "I think we should get out of here."

"What?! I can't do that!"

Jaime regarded him with irritation. "Remember what happened the last time you didn't take my hearing seriously? _Big_ mess, remember?"

This remark clearly stung him. It had been a close call for all of them, and ironically, it had involved Dr. Franklin's "son" Carl, and a whole lot of his robot siblings.

"How could I forget? But do you really expect me to tell the President that I aborted the negotiations because you _thought_ he _sounded _healthy?" He grasped her shoulders and tried to project an attitude of calm and reason. "Now look, Jaime. Let's not fly off the handle. We'll stay for this second meeting – to see if we can get it to play in our favor? And if there's something underhanded going on, we'll get insight as to what it is."

"No way, Oscar! Why don't you just stick your foot in that leg hold trap and see if the jaws close around your ankle? Look – you're _you_ – which makes you vulnerable,_ and _you've got these papers. And what about Rudy?" she added hotly, "are you going to get on the phone and sell Rudy down the river?"

Anger flashed in his eyes, and he stiffened and took his hands from her shoulders. "Well now what do you think? Do you suppose I'm just going to tell him that Rudy is our most valuable asset, and that his presence at the OSI is not negotiable - so that I can make it clear to him that the bionics program is successful? Would you like me to tell him all about _you_, just so he knows Rudy is a great scientist? "

Jaime bit her lip. She had rushed to judgement.

"I've got some phone calls to make." Oscar grumbled, heading for the door.

"Wait – Oscar." she said, catching him by the arm. "I'm sorry. I'm being a jerk. I have a ton of faith in you – I really do. I just get a little…lippy… when I'm worried."

"I know." Oscar replied, softening slightly, if reluctantly.

"You can tell me to go to hell anytime, you know." she said, fiddling apologetically with his lapel. "You don't have to put up with me the way you do."

"Actually," he admitted, "You are a pain in the ass, but you keep me straight. It's one of the things I love about you."

Jaime noted his use of the word 'love'. She smiled ruefully, and he kissed her. "I really do have to go make those phone calls."

"Wait…" she said, leaning against the door to prevent him from leaving. "What about what I heard?"

He sighed and stared at the ceiling a moment, suppressing irritation. "I don't know what to make of that, Babe. All I know is that we did a thorough check on him. I have to believe my own intelligence. There has to be another explanation. Now, would you excuse me?"

Jaime reluctantly stood back from the door. Maybe he was right – maybe there was another explanation.

Oscar returned to his room and called Russ, who set into motion a small team of Czech intelligence specialists. They had just two hours to find out who Kazimir Prochazka was. It would be impossible to check him out thoroughly, but they might at least attain some broad strokes of information. Before hanging up, Oscar asked Russ once again if Intelligence was firm on Prochazka's validity.

"Eighty percent, Oscar. That's a pretty good endorsement from those guys."

Oscar lay back on the too soft hotel bed and stared at the ceiling. He should have been reviewing that meeting carefully- combing through every moment to see if his own instincts were anything like Jaime's, but somehow he couldn't keep his mind from slipping back to the subject of the woman herself. Thinking about Jaime when he was supposed to be thinking of other things was becoming a genuine problem for him. The plain fact was that he was always deeply unsettled after being with her. When he left her earlier, it was under the usual guise that he had business too important to ignore, but in reality every fiber of him screamed to stay. He thought of her lying in that rumpled bed, tousled and flushed, incredibly sexy and impossibly adorable – and this time, just a little sad. He wondered for the thousandth time if he were taking advantage of her – the thought made him wince in discomfort. In his own defense, he reminded himself that she was an independent woman – perhaps the most independent woman he had ever met, and she didn't want or need a man like him horning in on her life, making demands or limiting her in any way. She had him exactly where she wanted him. Many times over he had beaten down a burning jealousy when she went off with some guy or other right under his nose. She always came back, but it gutted him every time. So who was taking advantage of whom?

He repeated the mantra - one of these days, she would say goodbye for good, and when she did, he would kiss her cheek, smile, and wish her luck, even if it killed him to do it.

Just ten minutes before the second meeting Russ finally called to tell him that there was indeed a Kazimir Prochazka living in Prague – an artist who was becoming infamous for his critiques of the government. The Prague contact suggested that if he wasn't extracted soon, he would likely land in more trouble than he could handle. Russ figured it would take several months to arrange to get him out, but that it could be done. Oscar hung up the phone feeling satisfied. Surely helping the brother would soothe Dr. Prochazka enough to tolerate the presence of Rudy.

He knocked on Jaime's door at five minutes to five, and they walked to the meeting room in silence. She tried hard to be calm even though the alarm bells were rattling in her head.

Prochazka was already there, anxiously rolling his wheelchair backward and forward. Oscar noted to himself that the wheelchair seemed a novelty to him – something to play with. He glanced at the small man's legs and dismissed the thought – they were painfully thin.

No sooner had Oscar shut the door and he and Jaime seated themselves, than Prochazka spoke. His tone was flat and weary. "I'm afraid time for negotiation is over, Mr. Goldman."

For a single moment Oscar held the crazy thought that Prochazka had read his mind and rejected what he was about to offer, but that thought evaporated when an armed man stepped from the washroom, and another burst from the closet.

Regarding the guns pointed at his chest, Oscar sighed, as though this sort of problem cropped up every day. "At least you understand now why I couldn't trust you with those papers."

"It doesn't make any difference. My people were always torn between the having me infiltrate the OSI, or simply getting the papers and developing the weather control device properly at home. I'm afraid they picked the latter." Prochazka's attitude was not smug, or angry, or sneering. Instead he seemed relieved to have the opportunity to be honest. Now he could speak openly, one professional to another.

"So I see." Oscar glanced at Jaime, who was wide eyed and a little quivery. For a moment he was concerned, until he realized she was putting it on, and then it was all he could to not to smile in admiration.

"And then there's you, of course. They have long wanted to take you out of circulation, Mr. Goldman. 'Cut the head off the snake', they say."

"Flattered, I'm sure. And who are your people?"

"I am Czech." he shrugged. "Always Czech."

"Thus Soviet."

"One day I hope not, but for now, yes."

"So what about your… brother?" Oscar asked, though he already knew the answer.

"He is an agent of course." Prochazka said, with another shrug. "I don't have a brother." He wheeled around to face Jaime, who at that moment was wishing she could voluntarily break into a sweat. Miss Sumner had been sitting very quietly, her posture stiff, her breath shallow.

"Miss Sumner – I'm so sorry." he said kindly. "I did try to keep you out of this. If it's any comfort, you might just end up in Siberia. I will do my best to see that's all that happens to you."

"Let her go." Oscar interjected. "She doesn't deserve to get caught up in all this."

"Oh, please, Mr. Goldman. You know perfectly well I can't do that. I'm afraid you should have taken a job in a Doctor's office, Miss Sumner." Turning his attention back to Oscar, he said, "Let's get down to business. The first thing I need, of course, is the Franklin papers. Please tell me where they are."

"Forget it." Oscar snapped.

"Please," Prochazka sighed. "let's dispense with formalities. You and I both know the next thing to happen is a swift pistol whipping for you, followed by dire threats to Miss Sumner's safety and virtue. Then your head will hurt, _and_ you will feel so guilty when these men do cruel things to her. So, please lets move right past that step."

Oscar clamped his mouth shut and glared. Jaime glanced at Prochazka, torn between maintaining her front as the quivery Miss Sumner and trying to talk some sense into this man. He seemed to be going through the motions – surely he could be swayed.

"All right." Oscar spat. "They're in the safe in my room. The combination is left three times to fifty one, right twice to seven, left once to twenty seven, right to eight."

Jaime clenched her fist in frustration. Oscar was giving up too easily - but she'd be damned if she was going to let those papers fall into the wrong hands.

"I will go myself." Prochazka said. "If you are not telling the truth, we will have to begin to explore those formalities." He turned to one of the gunmen and barked to him in Czech. The man stepped forward and jammed his weapon into Oscar's forehead. "Key please." Prochazka said.

Very slowly, Oscar withdrew the hotel key from his jacket pocket and handed it to the scientist, who then quickly rolled toward the door.

"Doctor – " Jaime blurted, causing him to halt, "You don't really want to do this, do you? You don't have to go through with it – you can still do the right thing –we can help you."

He regarded her with a kind of amused pity. "Do the right thing?" he snorted, "And I suppose you know exactly what that is, don't you? Here's something for you to contemplate, my lovely young friend. Your idea of the right thing and my idea of the right thing are probably nothing alike. You may have your 'truth, justice and the American way', or whatever it is. I don't want it."

"But – " Jaime protested, half rising from her chair. She was thinking of what he had said earlier about being transformed by a beautiful place…if she could only make him remember that! The second armed man immediately lunged at her, and she dropped back to her seat. Prochazka left the room in silence.


	4. Chapter 4

Having failed to get Prochazka to see the light, Jaime reverted to Plan B and began to cry, dropping her head to her chest.

One man produced duct tape from a bag, and roughly began to wind it around Oscar's ankles, binding him the chair. The second man kept his gun pressed to Oscar's head - and a suspicious eye on Jaime.

Meanwhile she fixed her wide, watery eyes on the gun, developed a shake and then a gulping sob.

"Miss Sumner!" Oscar muttered, "Please – try to remain calm!"

She bent forward, each sob doubling her over further. She looked as though she was going to throw up.

"I don't want to die!" she gargled.

The man tying Oscar seemed distracted by her performance, while the other man murmured anxiously.

"And I don't want to be sent to Siberia either!" she howled, grateful for the fact that most men fully expected women to routinely pull stunts like this. In fact, she was sure that when one man turned to the other and muttered, it translated from Czech to English as "_Women"! _The accompanying eye roll was in the universal language.

Finally - the moment Jaime had been hoping for - the first man pulled his gun from Oscar's head and took a tentative step toward her. She launched at him, jamming her shoulder into his stomach, piling him straight into the second captor, the two of them landing at Oscar's feet. Before they had the chance to regroup, Oscar leaned down and slugged them both smartly into unconsciousness, Jaime wincing with each blow. While he then furiously worked to release himself, she furiously bound up the two Czechs, finishing with a neat patch of tape over each mouth.

"I am going to have a word with Intelligence over this one!" Oscar fumed, getting to his feet.

"Heads are going to roll?"

"Heads are going to hurt, that's for sure."

He picked up the gun lying on the floor, and shoved it into back of his trousers.

"Don't shoot your butt." Jaime whispered, grinning wickedly.

Rolling his eyes, he whispered back, "This is like being on a mission with my kid sister."

"Not quite." she said with a wink and a pat on the aforementioned butt. "Okay… let's get out of here." Turning her thoughts to escape, she checked the window. One glance down those long two stories told her that was not going to work. She ran to the door and listened – there was movement out there… armed Soviet Agents? The Seniors hiking group? Who could tell? She gulped – the world was now filled with potential enemies.

Then she looked to the ceiling, and saw a big grate – it was a heat vent, and the heat vent _had_ to lead elsewhere. She pointed up. Oscar regarded her glumly.

"I think I'd rather jump out the window."

"What are we going to do about the papers?" Jaime demanded.

"They're missing bits – bits I save for the truly trustworthy."

"Oh, good!" she blurted. Oscar seemed to have made so few precautions for this meeting she was pleased to encounter one now. "Now, lift me up, will you?"

Maintaining an expression of deep reluctance, he squatted low and hugged her tightly around the thighs, and with a wobble, stood upright. She yanked the grate sharply, relieved when it came off right away.

"Have I ever mentioned to you that I'm no fan of tight spaces?" he grumbled.

"Now come on, Oscar," she cajoled as he put her down, grate in hand. "you can do it! I'm going to give you a leg up, and then I'll jump."

"Okay." he said morosely.

Jaime bent over and offered her cupped right hand. Oscar gingerly placed his foot into it and stepped upward, Jaime easily lifting him to the ceiling. Once he had grabbed hold of the edge of the vent, she continued to push as he folded himself into the narrow space. She felt like she was stuffing him in – and she could only hope he wouldn't get panicky.

Surveying her room one last time, she saw her purse, which contained the datacom Russ had given her. She had almost forgotten it!

"Code Snow White…it's Sneezy. Snow White and I need OUT now. Help!"

"Roger." said a calm female voice on the other end.

She stuffed the tiny communicator into her suit pocket, and leaped up to pop the grate inside the vent. Then, holding herself there with her trusty bionic arm, she took hold of Oscar's ankle with her left hand and asked him to pull. Slowly and agonizingly they worked together to lift her up into the tight, dark space. She felt her skirt catch, followed by the sound of tearing. _Terrific_. Once she had finally tucked herself inside that confined and dusty space, she realized she could not replace the grate - it was impossible to turn around.

This business could be amazingly irritating. She would have thought the adrenaline would push annoyance away, but it didn't. They _had_ to cover their tracks, so she slid backward until she was behind the hole, snapped the grate into place and moved forward again. Slowly they began their trip through the vent, pulling themselves along by the elbows. She could hear Oscar trying to suppress his breath –he was clearly intensely uncomfortable. As they moved, the metal warped and banged under them - probably announcing their presence to all who cared to listen, and even to those who didn't. Maybe it would be attributed to a stiff breeze from the heating system?

Suddenly Oscar stopped dead.

Was he resting? What was he doing? "What are you doing?" she hissed.

A short, nearly inaudible "Shh!" was his reply. She rolled her eyes. Just then she heard sounds wafting up through the vent in front of them – shuffling papers and irritable muttering – and it dawned on her that they were close to Oscar's room, Prochazka likely rifling through the contents of the safe below them.

She tuned her ear through the tin can filter of the vent and heard the wheelchair moving on the carpet, the doorknob turning, the latch clicking, silence.

When she said, "He's gone." Oscar turned as best he could and whispered, "What now? Do we actually have a plan?"

"We need to get to the roof, so we have to find a good spot to get out."

They slithered forward over several more rooms before Oscar found himself above a grate that was larger than the rest – over a utility room.

"This is our stop, I think." he said. Studying the size of the hole, and the hard linoleum ten feet below, he realized he could not go out any way but head first, which was not an option. Jaime could do it – she was small enough. "You'll have to go first – you'll have to somersault out." he whispered.

He shimmied forward so that Jaime could look for herself. She popped the grate, and stuck her head out for a quick look around. It seemed safe. Shifting so that her upper body was hanging upside down out of the vent, she grabbed the edge, curled her body tight into a somersault and eased her lower body through the opening. It was tricky and she almost got stuck and then almost fell, but then she quietly dropped to her feet. Oscar backed up and exited feet first, Jaime catching him around the legs to help guide him to the floor. He was quite a sight when he finally stood before her – rumpled and covered in gray dust. Even his eyelashes were dusty. Trickles of sweat made trails down his forehead.

"Close your eyes." she said, and blew in his face, sending a dirty cloud up between them.

"Oh oh." he coughed, blinking hard, looking her up and down. Her skirt had a four inch tear over the left thigh, and her blouse sported a couple of small holes as well. She wasn't quite as dusty as he was, he having picked up much of it by leading the way.

They took a quick look around. The small room held supplies – towels, sheets, cleaning fluids, and – Jaime's heart leaped - maid's uniforms.

"Get in there." she ordered, pointing to a wheeled laundry hamper as she slipped out of her clothes and into the uniform. Standing there, half undressed, bossing him around, she was struck by just how comfortable they had become with each other – almost too comfortable.

With another weary look he obeyed, carefully easing himself into the hamper. It was made of canvas, and once he was crouched in the bottom he made the heftiest load of laundry ever seen.

She pulled a sheet from the shelf, crushed it and threw it over top of him. Just as she was patting her hair down and doing a final dusting, the door opened. What happened next took place in a matter of seconds, but it in those seconds time slowed to a crawl. Jaime saw a maid staring at her, harsh black eyes, pale skin, a wedge of black hair. This particular maid was not looking for fresh towels. Jaime saw her mouth opening to yell, saw a small white hand reaching for the gun shaped item in her apron pocket. Jaime lunged at her, grabbed her arm, and slung her noisily into the shelving at the back of the room. Oscar reached out of the laundry hamper and discreetly closed the door. Jaime grabbed a large towel and tied it roughly around the woman's head, making a big knot at the back. She tied a sheet firmly around her body and left the odd looking package trussed up on the floor. She was suddenly grateful for the intrusion when she noticed the maid's cap, sitting askew on the unconscious woman's head. No disguise was complete without a hat. She whipped her hair up into a quick bun, pushed the cap onto her head, and turned to Oscar, who was peering at her with interest over the top of the hamper.

"Do I look legit?"

"Delicious." he replied in a low, admiring whisper.

She placed her hands on her hips to prompt a serious answer.

Oscar made circles with his index fingers and thumbs and held them up to his eyes. _The glasses!_ She had forgotten about them entirely. She was momentarily surprised by how clean and clear the world was when she removed them.

Oscar then mimed a cap-straightening motion, and once that was done, gave her the thumbs up.

"Good – now, down!" Jaime ordered. He obeyed, disappearing like a gopher down a hole. They wheeled into the hallway, Jaime looking as nonchalant as possible. For the moment they were alone. At a brisk pace, she pushed the cart toward the end of the hall, the red exit sign a beacon in front of them. It was the longest hallway in the world, and instead of getting closer Jaime could have sworn it was receding. Her heart was pumping double time and she was jittering with anxiety. They were simultaneously exposed _and_ trapped. Fifteen feet away from their goal she heard footsteps from the adjoining corridor. It was possible that these were real hotel guests, so Jaime told herself to stay cool. They rounded the corner - two men dressed in hiking boots, shorts and sweaters. They looked like they had something on their minds – and they marched right past her.

There now - the exit sign was right above her head. She was reaching for the doorknob when she heard them stop dead behind her. As she turned, from of the corner of her eye she could see the guns - pointed right at her. With so little time to react there was only one thing Jaime could do, regrettable as it was…


	5. Chapter 5

"Curl up tight Oscar!" she barked as she swung the hamper at the two men. In a neat arc it hurtled into them - flinging the first man right over the hamper. Then – to Jaime's horror - the second one dropped like a two hundred pound rock _on _the hamper, the flimsy structure buckling around him. There was a pained "Oofffff" from inside.

Swiftly she grabbed both men by the backs of their sweaters and hurled them into the nearest wall. That trick always worked well for her. They crumpled to the floor, no longer a threat to anyone.

"Shouldn't play with guns." she muttered irritably.

She grabbed the hamper and made for the exit, the damaged vehicle dragging on the carpet. She could hear shouting from way down the hall. Slamming the door shut behind them, she shoved the handle hard toward the latch to jam the lock.

"Are you all right?" she gasped, as she bent the hamper into a shape so that Oscar could get out – if he was able. "I'm so sorry! You were the only thing handy. I never figured I'd knock him right on to you. Is your back okay?"

She pulled the sheet away and he sat up, peevish expression in place.

"_That _was unpleasant." he grumbled.

Anxious to get out and not thinking clearly, Oscar stood up and attempted to step out. The hamper shot out from under him in one direction and he shot off in the other, head and shoulders leading – straight into the wall. It was like something out of a slapstick comedy, his face smearing against the flocked wallpaper as he slowly and painfully sank downward.

"Oh!" Jaime yelped, rushing to him.

Thankfully he was conscious, and he rose to his hands and knees with an incredulous shake of the head, and then, unsteadily, he got to his feet. If he'd looked peevish a moment before, he now looked peevish and embarrassed.

"I should have been holding you steady! I'm so sorry." she said ruefully, smoothing his hair and straightening his tie. "With friends like me…"

"No, it was me." he replied, through gritted teeth.

"Are you all right?" Are you ready to go?" She gently brushed the remnants of flocking from his cheek.

He nodded gamely, though he would have preferred to yell and swear and then sit down for a quiet sulk. A searing pain ran from his neck to the middle of his back, and his head was throbbing.

Jaime turned and bounded up the first flight, Oscar following behind, taking stairs two by two.

She didn't see what hit her at the top of the second flight. Oscar did - before the whole human tangle came at him. It was Dr. Prochazka. He had burst through the third floor exit door, hurling himself onto Jaime's back. Caught unawares, she fell backwards to the landing and straight into Oscar, who buffeted their collision with the wall. Clamped to her back like a vicious monkey, the small man growled, digging his fingers into Jaime's left eye, tightening his other arm around her neck.

"No no no!" he gurgled frantically, "You will not get away!"

She panicked – she couldn't help it –he was pressing one eye into the back of her skull, and choking her hard. She staggered and spun around the landing, pulling at Prochazka's fingers, for that instant having forgotten her super strength altogether. Oscar picked himself up from the floor, and saw that Prochazka was now fumbling for his gun.

"Jaime, hold still!" Oscar barked. Thankfully she listened, and Oscar aimed a hard punch at Prochazka's head, and then another and another. The little man wobbled, flailed, and dropped from Jaime's back.

From above they could hear a helicopter landing on the roof, and from below, multiple footsteps running up the stairs. Oscar retrieved Prochazka's pistol, glancing at the unconscious man for only a moment before deciding he would have to leave him where he lay.

Jaime was leaning against the wall with one hand pressed to her eye and the other around her throat, her heart wild and her breath heavy. He took her firmly by the elbow, murmured a few encouraging words, and ushered her up the stairs as fast as he could make her go.

She had almost recovered by the time they burst through the exit door, and she was never happier to see a helicopter in her life. They bolted to it, throwing themselves in just as three men poured out the door behind them. Lifting into the air through the staccato sound of gunfire, they were suddenly safe - up in the clear blue sky, their pursuers watching helplessly below.

Oscar picked himself up and staggered to the cockpit, where he bellowed into the datacom for some minutes before returning to sit beside Jaime. She, being safety obsessed in aircraft, had immediately strapped herself in to one of the four seats in the cargo area.

"Are you all right? Is your eye all right?" Even sitting right next to her, he was forced to put his face close to hers and speak loudly to be heard over the engine. Jaime was delighted to have him near. She was so vastly relieved; he was such a companionable man; they were a pretty decent team really – it was a happy moment.

"I'm still seeing stars, but I think I'm okay. That wasn't a pretty escape, but I'll take it." She slapped him on the knee, and grinned.

He grinned in return. "Did you see who jumped you? It was Prochazka."

"You're kidding!" she gasped. "That little creep is _strong_!"

"Considering the way he flew at you, I'd say you were right - he can definitely walk."

"Is he going to get away?"

"I hope not - Russ is sending the team in now. I had them waiting at the ranger station twenty miles down a fire road in case we needed them."

"You know, I kind of liked Prochazka," Jaime confessed, threading her arm through Oscar's and leaning into him, "until he tried to poke my eye out, that is. I bought that whole story about his brother. In fact that's what convinced me that we should give him a chance in that second meeting."

"I bought it too – more than you did, obviously. I should have listened to you." He scratched the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. "I was a liability back there – I'm sorry."

"Hey, you were not! I'd be a one eyed lady living in Siberia if it weren't for you. And besides…nobody's perfect." Jaime added, her lips twitching into an involuntary smile - envisioning Oscar unfortunate encounter with the laundry hamper and the hotel wall.

"If I'd listened to you in the first place…" He stopped and frowned at her. "I can see that smirk, you know."

"I'm not smirking." She bit her lip and forced the corners of her mouth down.

"It was bad, wasn't it?" A little amusement sparkled in his eyes.

Now laughing outright, she replied, "Spectacular."

"Well," He leaned closer into her, grinning widely, and said in a loud conspiratorial whisper, "I know I can count on your discretion."

It was probably partly relief, but they started laughing, and the more they laughed, the harder they laughed, until tears rolled down their cheeks and Jaime felt her throat constrict.

The merriment ended quite suddenly when a high-pitched whine rose up from the steady dark drone of the engine. Immediately the pilot barked, "Seatbelts!"

Just as Oscar reached around behind him, the bird made a sickening swoop, pitching him forward.

And then it began to spin.


	6. Chapter 6

Oscar would always remember the crash as a series of horrible sensations – no thoughts, just screeching caustic sounds of metal folding, crumpling and ripping, the scrambling of every sense, the violent pains as his body was hurled into walls, floor, ceiling - fragile flesh pitted against steel and momentum.

Then, the weird silence. Hissing from the wreck. The rise into consciousness… sudden panic, bright red pulp and tattered clothing where a human being once was, nausea, sickening claustrophobia…Jaime pinned…hurt…possibly dead. Intense fear – fear transforming into brain shattering anger. Then … out of the helicopter…some semblance of a return to a conscious, planning mind – dragging Jaime's limp body across the forest floor. A return to the helicopter … stumbling in the wreckage… flinging a first aid kit and blanket out onto the forest floor. Hands strangely reluctant. Blood all over the place…

Back to Jaime… his face close to hers, her sweet breath soft on his cheek – tears of relief blurring his sight, quickly on to the next sickening fear… a desperate groping of her bionic limbs…power packs intact - relief. Just a crushed foot, a smoking circuit exposed. The slow realization that he could hear his thoughts, the pounding and rushing in his brain subsiding.

Now to the next exploration…more fear…he couldn't make himself touch her head…he was too bloody. He wiped the tears from his eyes with his filthy sleeve and paused to look at his hands. The source of that river of blood was shockingly deep, ragged cuts - down to the bone on both palms. Slowly, clumsily, he opened the first aid kit, and pulled out gauze bandages. The pain…his arms…everywhere… was beginning to register. Using his teeth and whatever dexterous powers he had left, he raveled the gauze around his left, then his right hand, as tightly as he could, tearing it off with his teeth. The flow stemmed, he returned to Jaime, and with shaking and uncooperative fingertips he carefully examined her head, and the ugly gash at her hairline. Her skull seemed to be in one piece. He gently checked her eyes – pupils were equally dilated, the irises that beautiful iridescent green… and absolutely vacant. Still – if his limited diagnostic skills were correct, perhaps there was no serious head injury. She was just unconscious, that was all. He covered her with the dirty wool emergency blanket he found in the helicopter, and he kissed her forehead.

He sat hunched over her for a few minutes, allowing himself to absorb the fact that they had just survived a horrible crash – and that the pilot had not been so fortunate. He tried to push the images of the body from his mind, and remember instead the man at the controls – but found he could not recall his face. This made him feel horribly, unreasonably guilty.

With some difficulty he opened a disinfectant wipe and cleaned the cut on Jaime's forehead. He hoped the sting might wake her – but she remained unconscious - remote and unreachable in some dark place. He couldn't shake the sickening conviction that she was seriously hurt. More gauze. Carefully winding the bandage around her head, he was disgusted by his own clumsiness. By the time he'd finished with her, she looked much worse - disheveled and broken.

On shaking legs he collected bits of wood and built a small fire using matches from the kit. Everything took ten times more effort than usual. Striking the match was almost impossible. It suddenly occurred to him that he was horribly cold, and the minor shiver running through him became a major quake. Wilderness survival lore would suggest that he and Jaime should snuggle, taking advantage of each other's body heat** -** and as he was desperate to hold her anyway this was clearly his best course of action. The gun he had shoved in the waistband of his trousers was long lost but he still had Prochazka's pistol in his jacket pocket. He pulled it out and threw it on the ground. With a lot of pain and grimacing he lifted Jaime's limp body as carefully as he could and held her against him. He leaned against the nearest tree and slid, wrapping her legs around him as he inched downward. By the time he reached sitting position they were bundled in an intimate embrace. He reached for the blanket and threw it over her back.

Her head lolled on his shoulder, and he kissed her cheek fretfully. How he wished she were awake to wrap her arms around him, so that they could cling to each other. He couldn't help but be disturbed by her unconsciousness, and he had to resist the urge to shake her and call her name. To have her there in body but not in mind made him desperately lonely. At least he was able to look after her a little bit – that brought him some solace. For an instant he allowed himself to think about how much he wanted to look after her – every minute of every day, forever. He pushed the thought away.

As the adrenaline drained from his system and he responded to the warmth of Jaime's body, his eyelids grew heavy, even as his brain was still wildly trying to process what had happened. Unconsciousness grasped at him, despite the added worry that Prochazka's people might just get to them before the OSI did. He checked to make sure the gun was in reaching distance, and he forced his eyes open half a dozen times before he finally succumbed to the blackness.

Jaime awoke in the grips of anxiety – twitching sharply and choking in fear. Her last memory was of the crazy spinning, seeing Oscar hurled across the helicopter carriage – and now here she was in perfect quiet and absolute darkness. Was she dead? Before she could truly panic, she registered the arms around her.

"Babe?"

Oscar's voice – rough and real - the sound of warmth and safety. Tears sprung to her eyes.

"Babe? Talk to me."

"Oscar…" she gasped, "Oh Oscar, where are we? What happened?" She would have burrowed into him if she could. Nestling close as possible, she pressed her face to his neck and closed her eyes tight. Though her memory gave her no clue as to what had happened, she could tell by the acid in her stomach and the pains all over her body that it had been something terrible.

He sighed and squeezed her gratefully – his fears for her relieved by the sharpness and clarity of her voice. He kissed her face and rocked her soothingly. "Oh Babe…" he murmured, "you're awake…thank God. How do you feel?"

Jaime registered fragile edge in his voice. It contradicted the substance and warmth of his big body and strong arms. She was quiet for a moment as she assessed the state of her body. Her head hurt. Actually, everything hurt – but none of it seemed dire. "Like I've been in in a wrestling match with Joe Frazier." she said, compelled as always, to make a joke in the darkest moment possible.

That illicited a pained and muted chuckle, and they both knew what he would say next. "Joe's a boxer, Jaime."

"Are you hurt, Oscar?" She cupped her hand around the back of his neck, the cool, smooth skin a tangible comfort.

"Nothing irreparable."

Quietly and calmly, he did his best to explain what had happened through the patchwork of his own memory gaps. His voice shook noticeably when he told her that the pilot was dead and the helicopter was nothing more than tangled debris. It was the middle of the night, and they were in a forest in Colorado… somewhere. They would not be able to walk, as she had sustained damage to her bionics, so they had to hope for rescue.

"Thanks for…pulling me out of there." she said quietly.

"Just evening up the scorecard a bit."

As much as Jaime felt she should stay awake and figure out what they were going to do, her more compelling need was to escape her splitting headache. The only defense was sleep, and she gave into it quickly. Oscar, relieved of his worst fears for her, followed close behind.


	7. Chapter 7

A gnawing ache in her lower back woke Jaime when light was just beginning to warm the sky. Birdsong filled the air. Her head was still throbbing, though not as badly as it had been earlier. She felt the chill of the dew on the blanket that covered her, and underneath the two of them, the deeper cold of the earth.

As carefully and discreetly as she could, she rolled from Oscar's lap to the ground, realizing along the way that her left leg was indeed not cooperating as it should. He didn't waken. Even in the dim light she could see what a mess he was - covered with nicks, cuts, bruises and a black eye that had nearly swollen shut. She gasped when she saw his hands, thinking them at first to be smashed beyond recognition, but then she saw that they were roughly bandaged and soaked in blood. She covered him carefully with the blanket.

Looking down at her own body, she saw dark rusty tracks all up and down her limbs – sometimes a discernible hand print, sometimes a smear. Her foot looked squished - and bent into an odd position.

She lay flat, and her back began to respond positively. Gazing up at the deep blue sky, she was reminded of a camping trip she and Steve took after they were engaged. They had slept out under the stars and at four in the morning the downpour had started. She could have sworn it took them two days to dry out again.

_Steve? _

Completely unbidden, she found herself remembering a moment with Steve by Lake Casitas –they kissed. Instantly, her body twitched in astonishment. She _remembered._

Then there was a flood of memories – seeing him for the first time in years, the playful, flirty banter, their engagement, Helen's delight, Steve's funny little reticent smile. And she could remember the feeling – remember how sure she had been, how happy she had been.

The memories were coming on as though someone had popped a video tape into her brain and hit play. She had no control of them and they kept coming. It was overwhelming. The memories were sweet, sad, and so vivid –they were practically happening in Technicolor.

She sat quietly for almost an hour, reviewing sorting, marveling – experiencing emotions she had seemingly never felt before. The odd part was that she owned these feelings – they were hers. It was a little disturbing - one part of her mind was confused and questioning, examining the experience from a few paces away, while the other part of her mind jumped in, rejoicing in the completion of her life's picture book, tears of joy and sadness trickling down her face as she rediscovered the lost pieces of her own life. Did this mean she was now _whole_ again? Did this mean she was just that little bit more like everyone else? The ground became cold against her sore back, so she sat up, and got onto all fours. Everything hurt.

Just then Oscar groaned and shifted and opened his eyes. The sight of Jaime seemed to alarm him. He went from sleepy to wide eyed in an instant. She was an alarming sight – her head wrapped in a cockeyed bandage, her face filthy and bruised (neither knew it but they had matching black eyes), her clothes covered in a mixture of soot and his blood. On all fours, she looked like a wild child raised to adulthood by very irresponsible wolves.

"Hey." she said, her face breaking into a tentative grin. "Good morning." Her smile broke the spell, and her voice reassured him. "We're alive. Isn't that great news?"

"It is."

She crawled over and sat close to him. She wanted to hold his hand, but as that wasn't an option, she rested her palm on his knee.

"Can you move?" she asked.

"I have no idea." He laughed, and his grin in turn made her feel better. Like his voice in the dark in the middle of the night, it was warm and reassuring.

He looked her over, smiling sheepishly. "I uh…just want you to know that…I wasn't feeling you up or anything, though the evidence would suggest otherwise."

She couldn't help but laugh.

"I wanted to make sure your power packs were in one piece."

"I suppose I'll buy that." she said, with a theatrically suspicious squint.

"Thanks." Oscar folded his legs under him and rose up slowly and awkwardly, trying hard to avoid using his hands. "Jesus…" he gasped, "I don't know what's worse…the crash or sitting outside all night." He pressed his wrist into his lower back, straightened up as best he could, and made a slow circuit around the campsite.

"Oscar?" Jaime said, watching him limp past her. "You're not going to believe this, but…I remember."

"Remember what?" Oscar asked, preoccupied with his multiple infirmities.

"My life. I remember."

He took another couple of steps before her words truly registered, and when they did, he stopped dead.

"You…your memory? It's back?"

"Uh huh."

"All of it?"

"Far as I can tell." Jaime hadn't paused to wonder how this news would affect him - she had assumed he would be happy for her – he always cheered her on. But he looked shocked. His eyes flicked from hers off into the woods. Just for a moment he looked _lost_ - peering out into the wilderness, as though seeking a landmark.

"That's wonderful." he said, a big, hard smile overtaking his face as he walked to her. He dropped awkwardly beside her and slung an arm around her, pulling her into a loose hug. "Jaime…finally. That is nothing short of a miracle. I'm so happy for you."

"Are you?" she asked, pulling back to look him in the eye.

Whatever expression she had seen moments earlier was gone, replaced by a resolute warmth.

"Of course."

He listened as she described those lost moments of her life to him – from childhood on to her parachuting accident four years earlier. It helped to tell him, to confirm she had not made it all up. When they compared shared memories he was amazed by the sharpness and detail of her recollections. She was so transported she forgot the helicopter crash and the splitting headache – until finally a sound crept into her conscious mind, repeating in the distance.

Someone was calling them.

Without hesitation, she called out in return.

"Jaime…no!" Oscar hissed. "We don't know who it is!" He staggered to his feet, his face wrenched with pain. Bending to pick up his gun, he found he couldn't grasp it – not with one hand, nor with two. Realizing the hopelessness of his quest, he stood up and leaned against a tree, frustrated. He wiped his face with his sleeve.

"I'll look after that thing." Jaime offered, crawling toward it.

"Don't throw it away!" Oscar warned, all too familiar with her distaste for firearms.

"I won't." she said quietly, picking it up in her right hand. She was suddenly feeling terribly sorry for him. "I'll even shoot it if I have to."

Though she sat dutifully pointing the gun into the woods, her vigilance proved unnecessary. She soon recognized a friendly voice, and before too long, with much yelling from both her and Oscar, Mark Russell and two medics emerged from the thick greenery.

Jaime was moved by stretcher, while Oscar managed to walk the half mile to the helicopter. Though neither of them was keen to fly, they gritted their teeth and got on board without protest or comment.

Once they were settled, each lying stiff and nervous on stretchers, medics buzzing around them, Jaime called softly to Oscar, "Can we keep this between this little…change…between you and me? Just for now? I need time."

Oscar smiled reassuringly and nodded. Then he closed his eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

The rest of the day was a blur. Rudy put her through countless tests and examinations, most of which she experienced through a haze of pain medication. She didn't so much as cross paths with Oscar in the hall, and had to be reassured several times that he was doing fine.

The next morning she awoke to find him sitting by her bed, dressed in a clean tan suit, showered and groomed, and still a complete wreck – his face bruised and swollen, a fearsome black eye - the big white bandages on his hands finishing the picture.

"Good morning." he said, rising slowly to his feet.

"Well, there you are!" she murmured with a sleepy smile. "Where you been?"

"Surgery." he said, gingerly holding his hands up. "They had to reattach a couple of tendons."

"Oh…" she said, gently grasping his wrists, "are you going to be okay?"

"Rudy assures me I'll be a hundred percent – in a while. How are you?"

"Good." She yawned and rubbed her eyes. "Other than the bionics I'm just kind of beat up. Rudy says I should be walking in a day or two. You look terrible, by the way. You should be in bed."

"You don't look so hot yourself." he retorted amiably.

"Yes, but I _am _in bed, like a sensible person."

"I should add that you're the most beautiful wreck I've ever seen."

"A _sensible_ wreck." she insisted.

"Russ and the team got Prochazka." Oscar said, deftly switching subjects. "And five of his people –the two guys we taped up in the meeting room, the two you took out by using me as a projectile, and that maid…the one you threw around in the utility room. We think that's all of them."

"Well, it appears that's a job well done." Jaime replied, warmed by a pleasant sense of satisfaction.

"I find it odd, that after all that training we put you through, it's your lady-wrestler techniques you use the most."

"Go with what works, that's what I say." she grinned. "Is that going to be the end of the weather control device?"

"Oh, you never know." Oscar replied with a rueful smile. "Before you know it I'll be at the prison trying to cut a deal with Prochazka in exchange for a shorter sentence."

"Oh, I hope not!"

"I hope not too."

"But you're off the hook aren't you? The President can't possibly see this as a failure on your part."

"I suppose not." Oscar smiled soberly and sat on the edge of the bed. "Uh…Steve will be here today."

"What?" Jaime gasped, butterflies suddenly flapping in her stomach. It was one thing to be able to get acquainted with her new/old reality at her leisure and in the privacy of her own mind – but it was quite another to have it standing in front of her. "Did you…?"

"No. He was coming anyway. He and Rudy are going over research for a project they're doing together."

"Well, are you…will you be here too?" She was suddenly anxious, and her immediate desire was to sit in his lap and screw her eyes shut.

"No, I'm off to see our pilot's family this morning, and then I go back to Washington."

"Oh…." Jaime said sadly. "I'm glad you're going to see them - I will too, once I'm out of here."

"I'll tell them. I'll send your condolences, and leave contact information with Rudy."

"You shouldn't go back so soon." she chided, nervously fastening his open cuff button.

He shook his head. "You know that wife of mine. I can hear her screaming all the way from Washington." It was Callahan who had made the remark that Oscar was married to the OSI, but Jaime was the one who had visualized this terrible wife for him, complete with crossed eyes, terrible table manners and foghorn voice. Jaime had dubbed her "Ossifinia" and she was often the butt of their jokes.

"Oh Oscar, you don't look ready to go back to work. You need rest."

"The OSI waits for no one."

Jaime bit her lip, her heart sinking. "You don't have to go…if you're thinking you need to leave because Steve is coming…"

"Listen," he said gently, "Steve will be here for several days. You just relax and take it slowly, okay? Don't put pressure on yourself."

She nodded uncertainly.

Oscar patted her hand lightly with one of his giant gauze mitts. "You're going to be okay, Babe. You've got the final piece to the puzzle. Life is going to make a lot more sense to you now." He kissed her cheek and held his face to hers for a long moment.

"Bye." he whispered as he pulled away. "See you soon."

"Promise?" Jaime asked, the word sounding more like a yelp than a question.

"Of course."

After Oscar left, she spent the next hour with her eyes glued shut, trying to sleep (and heal) but her brain was far too busy and anxious to let her drift off. It didn't help that in her time she had had enough bed rest for several lifetimes, and she hated the whole scene – the blue gowns, the hospital colors, the sounds –everything. Knowing her feelings all too well, Rudy had arranged for a wheelchair for her, and had explained to the nurses that Jaime had to do what Jaime had to do to get better. If that meant not staying in bed, so be it.

Leaning far out of bed she managed to grab the arm of the waiting wheelchair and pull it closer. Without too much trouble she lowered herself into it, wrestled herself into a robe (never easy from a seated position), and wheeled down the hall in search of Rudy's friendly face.

She found him in Lab A, peering at a file with Russ. In the moment before they registered her presence, Russ said, "I don't know if he'd do that for me." Rudy shook his head and they both laughed.

"Hey guys!" she said. "Whatcha doing?" Evidently she surprised them, as they jumped and looked vaguely guilty. Russ snapped the file shut.

"I was just coming to see you, Jaime." he said, greeting her with a cautious kiss on her unbruised cheek. "… to see how you're doing, of course, and I was also wondering…" he scrunched his face up apologetically, "if you might be up to talking about the crash ... to help us put the pieces together."

"You don't have to if you're not up to it." Rudy interjected, looking concerned.

"I'm fine." She meant it - she was pretty much in one piece and happy to be alive. Oddly, she felt very little trauma from the crash itself - weighing on her more was the return of her memory, but she wasn't about to mention that – not yet anyway. She could only take so much medical curiosity at once.

"How does your head feel?" Rudy persisted.

"A little achy but _fine._" She fixed him with a determined look and he laughed.

"Okay, okay!"

"So!" Jaime said, turning her attention resolutely to Russ. "Do you know why it happened?"

"Well, we're not a hundred percent sure yet, but I suspect it comes down to the fact that helicopters and bullets don't mix. I've got a forensics team out there right now."

"What can I do for you?"

"Just tell us what you remember."

One of the aggravating parts of any mission was the bureaucratic follow up. Even when all was well and every objective had been achieved, some poor sap was stuck making a detailed report of the whole thing, often requiring a week's work to put it together, and when it went wrong, the work doubled. It used to be her until she balked, which now usually meant that Russ was stuck with it. This time was different, of course – a man's life had been lost, so Jaime set her mind to the task with more gravity than usual. She recalled for them in detail the short period of time she remembered, ending somewhere before the crash - when the entire world was a sickening blur.

There was something about both Russ and Rudy that seemed overly inquisitive, given what she thought was the fairly obvious nature of the event. "Are there pictures? Can I look at them?" she asked, suddenly curious herself. She realized she wanted to know what she had missed, what Oscar had been left to contend with on his own.

"I don't know if you want to look Jaime…it's up to you." Rudy said. "It's not pretty."

"I didn't think it would be." They were both hovering, apparently conflicted about how much she would need or want to know**. **

"So…why am I getting the feeling that there's something you're not telling me? What's up with you two?"

"Sorry Jaime." Rudy said, "It's nothing critical really, we're just curious about something. Show her, Russ."

Russ handed her an eight by ten black and white photograph. For a minute she had a hard time deciphering the image – it was abstract, crumpled pattern - like a paper bag - completely unfamiliar - until she realized it was the inside of the helicopter.

"I think you were here." Russ said, circling his finger over one section. "Oscar told us you were strapped in, and he was not."

"That's right." Jaime found her face heating and her heart beating faster. Evidently she wasn't quite as calm about it as she thought she was.

"He is so lucky to be alive, being tossed around like that." Russ added. "The guy has horseshoes up his…" He apparently rethought the statement, and didn't finish the sentence.

"Well, our Jaime is a pretty lucky girl too." Rudy added. "As you can see, the area where you were sitting - behind the pilot - took a lot of the impact. And then at some point the rotor must have hit a something – likely a tree, and that caused the ceiling to buckle around you. You're very lucky it didn't fold _into_ you. And then, if you look here…" he pointed to a lengthy gash in the metal, "that's where a rotor actually came in _at_ you."

"Actually, this is kind of sickening." Jaime said, swallowing. The inferred violence was so profound –she could feel it even if she couldn't remember it. "So…what are you curious about?"

"Are you okay?" Russ asked.

She nodded and smiled weakly.

"Well, apart from the fact Oscar survived the crash," Rudy said, "we've been trying to figure out why his hands are in the state they are. "

"Yeah, that's what I want to know." Jaime said. Suddenly she felt stupid for not having asked Oscar herself…not even having demonstrated curiosity. She felt herself blush – she had been so captivated by the recovery of her memory it had made her selfish. "We didn't talk about it… he doesn't remember?"

"No."

"So…?"

Rudy pointed to a chunk of the ripped metal. "Right here, at the back of this mess - that's where you were strapped in. These dark spots…here and here…that's blood. Judging by the metal stresses and the blood, it looks to us as though this chunk of the wreck was crushed in on you – which is why your foot is in the state it is – but then it was actually _pulled_ back. We think Oscar did that - so he could get you out."

"What?" Jaime gasped. "But that's not possible, is it? I mean…that's not just tin foil…that would be an effort even for me! Are you sure?"

"No… and we never will be, unless one of you remembers," Rudy admitted, "but it's well within the realm of possibility. Adrenaline, Jaime – it's an amazing thing. It's the only way we can explain what happened to him - how he shredded his hands and pulled most of the muscles in his arms and shoulders. His injuries are consistent with a monumental physical effort. The crash itself doesn't explain it."

Wow." Jaime said, very quietly.

"He must have been worried the thing would explode – and he wasn't going to going to leave you in there."

The three fell into a weighted silence. "Wow." she said again, biting her fingernail and frowning. "That's…amazing."

"You okay?" Rudy asked with a worried smile.

"Yes, yes. Just…wow…that's all."

-------

She was distracting herself by gossiping at the nursing station later that day when a couple of the women in white began elbowing each other and giggling. When Jaime turned around she saw why – it was Steve, strolling toward them, dressed in a tailored powder blue leisure suit and brown shirt, unbuttoned to the middle of that perfect hairy chest. Broad shouldered, slim hipped and incredibly fit, he was every girl's daydream. All the nurses at the station were transfixed. "He's perfect, Jaime." she recalled Callahan gushing one night at a restaurant. "Have you looked at him lately? C'mon! The man is a hunk!" Her heart pounded as he drew closer. The heavy brow lifted when he spotted her, and a half smile crept on to his face.

"Hello, ladies." he greeted the nurses, his manner diffident and a little shy.

"Hiya gorgeous." he said quietly, turning to Jaime.

It was amazing to see him as she now did – with all the blanks filled in, All the history that he knew was now hers too. It took effort not to just gawk. "Hiya handsome." she replied, feeling strange and tongue tied. "I…um…I'm not feeling too gorgeous, I gotta tell you."

"I think you look cute as a half raccoon." Steve said, brushing her black eye with his fingertip.

She laughed and bit her lip.

"You got time for a coffee?" Steve asked.

"Well, there's not much else on my calendar."

There followed a minor contest between them about whether Steve would push her wheelchair to the cafeteria or she would wheel herself – he tried to insist, but she lifted her chin in a way that signaled clearly to him that insisting further would only get him in trouble.

"So that was a bad crash you were in. Russ filled me in – are you okay? Really okay?" he asked, handing her black coffee in a styrofoam cup. She had agreed to let him get the coffee and bring it back to the table – but only after he pointed out that it was hellishly difficult to hold a cup and guide your own wheelchair at the same time.

"I'm really okay. I mean, it was horrible and everything, but I'm grateful I got out of there in one piece…or mostly one piece, anyway. Did you hear about Oscar – how he got me out of there?"

"I sure did." Steve answered, arching a brow. "I say we send him on missions from now on."

"I second that." Jaime found herself feeling increasingly ill at ease, and strangely unable to define her feelings about him. She was probably putting too much pressure on herself, just like Oscar told her not to – but she couldn't help it. _How do we feel? How do we feel?_ Her brain kept inquiring, rifling frantically through its new memories, trying to dovetail past into present. "How have you been?" she said, trying not to stammer, "I haven't seen you in ages."

"I'm good." Steve replied. "Busy."

Somehow she had managed to forget until now that Steve was a man of few words.

Reaching up to run her hand through her hair, she inadvertently elbowed her coffee cup, and the dark liquid splashed across the table - Steve right in its path. In less than the blink of an eye he was on his feet, standing a safe distance away – and not a dark stain to be seen on his clothing.

"It's moments like this I appreciate the bionics." he quipped, and then he winked.

Quipping and winking - that was something Steve did a lot of, and Jaime had often wondered if it were some sort of defense. Now, with her brain in full working order, she knew he had always been that way. Watching him as he retrieved a fresh cup of coffee and a cloth to wipe up the mess, she wondered yet again how he really felt about her. Sometimes she thought she sensed a low, simmering resentment in him, but the next minute she would decide she was wrong. He was always kind and gracious - and slightly distant. Steve was impossible to read – he always had been. She thought of him returning home from his first semester in college, standing in the bathroom combing his hair into a perfect ducktail. No matter how she teased him and poked at him, she couldn't get a rise out of him. Now, since the accident, there was always a huge unacknowledged elephant in the room when they were together – for him, there _had_ to be loss and sorrow and jealousy - and anger… how could he not be angry, having lost her twice - having borne witness to her idiotic romance with Michael Marchetti? Until now she had lived in the comfort of perfect ignorance - a big blank – except it wasn't a blank anymore. A lump of regret formed in her throat.

He ambled back to the table, a bemused smile on his face.

"Now this time," he said, handing her the fresh cup, " try to keep it in the cup until it goes into your mouth, okay?"

"Tall order." she said in a shaky voice. "Thanks." There was something about that first sip of coffee that saved her from bursting into tears. The hot, bitter liquid cut through and silenced the noise in her head and heart, and dissolved the lump in her throat. She had a blessed moment of clarity. This was just a conversation - that was all. What came before didn't matter. The missing parts of the picture had finally been filled in, but they didn't change anything. She had already grieved and regretted – even in that blank state. Forgotten or remembered, the past was over. She breathed deeply and smiled and looked him in the eye. "So have you talked to Mom and Dad lately?"


	9. Chapter 9

Oscar tried to follow Rudy's advice and stayed home for a couple of days. Everything was difficult. He couldn't really drive. He could barely hold a fork, and doing up buttons was a major task. At the end of two days he called his cleaning lady in to deal with the mess he had made, and his driver took him to work. At least there were distractions there.

Now he was sitting at his desk, seemingly incapable of getting down to the big pile of papers in front of him. On top of the pile was Russ's preliminary report on the crash, but Oscar couldn't bring himself to look at it. Just sitting there it was causing him to experience a sickening array of flashbacks, so he pushed it to the floor.

For the last hour (though he didn't realize it was an hour – he thought it was fifteen minutes) he had been practicing his signature, trying to make his stupid hand work for him. Looking at the page, he thought how apt it all was. Where there used to be a recognizable inscription, in its place was a mess of unraveled lines – which echoed exactly how he felt.

He'd made his bed, and now he had to lie in it – and what a cold, lumpy, lousy bed it was too. He had known it would hurt to let her go, but he hadn't known how bad it would be. He had no appetite, sleep eluded him, and he had great difficulty concentrating on anything – anything except the absence of Jaime in his life. And the cherry on top was that any day now, Steve would come strolling in, asking Oscar to be his best man, (as long as Jaime didn't get too confessional, that is) and then the matching bionic sweethearts would get on with their pre-destined perfect marriage, and they would have several beautiful and intelligent blonde children, and maybe one of boys would be given 'Oscar' as his middle name, and the kid would hate it and complain and leave it off his driver's license two decades from now. That would be Oscar's place in Jaime's life.

As if he wasn't unhappy enough, he was also experiencing a terrible, aching regret. If he had known it was to be their last time together, he would have stayed with her – he would have blown off the second meeting with Prochazka – he would have blown off everything - just to spend another hour in her arms.

When the door burst open he was so startled he practically launched out of his chair - and had it been anyone but her he would have been furious.

In this rattled state, he somehow felt as though he had left evidence strewn all over his desk – that instead of a few scrawls - all his thoughts, and even his broken heart itself were out there in the open, sitting in a sad tangle on his desk. He couldn't help but blush.

"Jaime! What are you doing here?!" he said, working hard toward a jocular tone.

"I'm here to see you." she said. Her eyes were shining and wide, and there was a serious and determined air about her that made him nervous.

"You look great! Amazingly good – and you're on your feet!" he added enthusiastically, as he attempted to hide the pile of scrawls. He sorted them quickly into a rough stack – but alas, he was not able to cover it up with an official government document by the time she had reached his desk.

"You look tired. What are you doing?" she said, frowning curiously at the papers.

"Oh…" he said, suddenly realizing there was really nothing to hide, "I was just seeing if I could sign my name – or whether I'd have to get a stamp made."

"May I see?"

"Well," he said ruefully, handing her the papers, "there's not much to look at."

"Oh dear." she murmured, shuffling through the papers. "You really expect to be able to write with those big polar bear paws?"

"I have to do _something_." he replied piteously. Even though she was the source of his misery, her presence instantly made him feel better. She too looked more at ease than she had a second earlier. Her shoulders had dropped, and she was regarding him with a quizzical smile.

"Let me see if I can help you with that." She stood beside him, taking the pen in her hand.

"You hold my hand in yours…as well as you can, anyway." she instructed. Three fingers were splinted and therefore completely useless, but he was able to bend his pinky around hers, and his thumb gripped her hand to his. "Now just guide the pen."

He gave her a look expressing questionable confidence, and leaned forward. She stepped behind him and leaned against his back, so she could look over his left shoulder. He stiffened slightly, her closeness so welcome - and so very destabilizing.

"Go on." she said softly.

Very slowly, he attempted to make Jaime's hand his own. The 'O' was recognizable as a loop, though about three times its normal size - and it was downhill from there.

"Hmm. One more time." she giggled, snuggling closer, pressing her cheek to his. This caused him to gasp, which he covered by clearing his throat. He had sometimes wished he were a more poetic man, so that he could put words to his feelings for her. When she was near, every particle of him scattered into a beautiful confusion, like stars in the sky. But then again, he wouldn't allow himself to tell her these notions even if he _could_ articulate them properly.

"Concentrate." she said sternly.

He tried again. The results were again laughable.

"It was a nice idea." he said. He had become so good at concealing his feelings for her that his own voice sounded like it came from another person, someone much more cold blooded than he was.

Jaime didn't move, and the silence between them lasted a beat too long to be normal.

"I need your advice." she said suddenly.

"Oh?" He attempted to turn to look at her – in fact he thought she would release him so they could face one another, but she pressed more firmly into his back, and reinforced her position by placing her left arm under his and pressing her hand to the center of his chest.

Held there with absolutely no desire to free himself, he stared at his four telephones, which he earnestly hoped would not ring.

"Yeah. I have this…friend." she began. "She's about my age, and she's just getting her life sorted out. Putting the puzzle of life together, you know?"

"Uh huh." It was difficult to concentrate on what she was saying, the words crowded out of his head by all the questions jostling around in there, not to mention the added distraction of the scent of her hair and the weight of her beloved body against his. That anxious quaver was present in her voice – a sound that always made him want to rise up and defend her from all perils, whether it be a speeding ticket or a vicious enemy agent. Without yet knowing what she was talking about, he felt she needed reassurance. He placed his bandaged hand over hers and held it there against his chest, steadying her against him.

"Well, things are different than she thought they would be, and something has happened that she didn't quite plan for – well, nobody planned for it actually. _Life is what happens when you're making other plans._ Isn't that what they say?"

"That is what they say." Oscar replied, focusing his mind to her words.

"She's been …seeing…this man… casually. It wasn't supposed to be a big deal, because they both have other stuff going on…but she's realized it _is _a big deal. They're really different people - but they understand each other… and they trust each other … doesn't that sound like a good basis for a relationship to you?"

"It does." he agreed, letting go of the breath he realized he had held through her entire speech.

"And there's something else … really deep … I – she can't describe it… their souls fit together… something like that."

"Really."

"Yeah, they've never talked about it, but she thinks he might feel the same way. She's not sure. He's very good at keeping secrets, this guy."

"Is that right?" Oscar asked slowly, his heart racing, though he wished it wouldn't. He could see the contour of her face from the corner of his eye. She was blinking a lot.

"Anyway," Jaime continued unsteadily, "she's not sure if she should bring it up with him, because she's worried maybe he doesn't really want any more from her – that he likes to keep her sort of ... compartmentalized, so she doesn't complicate his life. What do you think she should do?"

Oscar gulped, and pulled her right hand close to him, effectively wrapping her around him. "Well…if this friend of yours is anything like you…" he said slowly, "the guy have to be made of lead not to have some very strong feelings about her - feelings he might keep hidden." The words came out of his mouth before they formed in his brain, and as he heard them he wished he could pull them back in again – what if she really was talking about a friend?

"You think?" she said, her voice faltering. She cleared her throat. "And, well, you might be able to relate to this…but he's a terrible workaholic. Works all the time - day and night. And she's wondering – even if he does want her, does he have time for her?"

"Oh, he has time for her." Oscar answered quickly. He took a breath in an attempt to regain his rapidly disintegrating composure. "You have to remember he might…work all the time because it keeps him from…being lonely. That's possible, you know."

"You think he might be lonely?"

"I have my suspicions."

"It's a really important job. _Really_ important."

"An important job can't keep him from loneliness. Sometimes a person might need the right…motivation…to change their priorities."

"Do you really think so?"

"I do."

She was quiet for a moment. He thought he felt her quiver. "She can be a real thorn in his side."

"Well, he's probably got it coming… I don't think he's good enough for her."

"Oh, that's not true at all." she said, with a wistful sigh. "He's very, very good - the best. But would they even be _allowed_? I mean…say she kind of works for him…"

"Allowed?" Oscar said incredulously, turning firmly enough in his chair to cause her to release him, "If he can't face that down, he's definitely not good enough. Come here." he added, gesturing to his lap.

"I don't want to hurt you…" Jaime protested.

"It'll be worth it." he replied, pulling her to him. She sat carefully, as though he were breakable. She herself looked so fragile and so uncertain it caused him a sharp pain in the centre of his chest.

He found himself unable to speak for a moment, looking into the eyes he thought he knew so well. There were depths in them he had yet to explore. He couldn't wait.

"What happened?" he asked quietly.

The corner of her mouth twitched to the side, and she frowned. Leaning back, she nestled herself into him and rested her forehead against his cheek. "Once," she said thoughtfully, "when I was about six, Mom and Dad and I went on a road trip up the coast to Washington. In Oregon we stopped at this roadside attraction called _Johannsens' Miniature Fantasy Land_. I just loved it – they had these dioramas set up with miniature everything - people and houses and fences trees and horses – everything. There were piglets – I loved the piglets."

Oscar closed his eyes and rested his head against hers. Though he wanted to know what had happened with Steve, this was a moment to be cherished.

"Then when I was fourteen we did the same trip, and I begged them to stop again, for old time's sake. They told me not to be silly and that I was too old. Daddy said, "You can't go back, honey." He was always saying stuff like that, and I was really mad, because I took him literally. Well, I just wouldn't let it go, so they relented and of course Daddy was right. It wasn't magic anymore. I've been thinking about him a lot in the last few days. I'm not saying my love for Steve was _anything _like _Johannsen's Miniature Fantasy Land_, " she said with a rueful laugh, "but you _can't _go back. It's in the past now. It's a wonderful memory and I'm much richer for it, but I'm not the same person anymore. I love someone else."

Oscar's elation collided head on with his sympathy for his friend. "Poor Steve." he said.

"Steve is … resilient. I never did tell him I got my memory back. I will someday … so I can apologize."

"Apologize?"

"For what I put him through."

"Well you didn't do it on purpose." Oscar replied, instantly defensive on her behalf.

"Still." Jaime said. "I want him to know it's not water off a duck's back. He's seeing an astronaut right now…someone named Kelly?"

"Right. Kelly. Nice girl." He had very little interest in Kelly Woods at this moment. What he really wanted was to run his hand up Jaime's arm, to touch the soft skin at the back of her neck, but his hands were useless. Instead he hugged her a little tighter.

"Does this mean…" he asked tentatively, "that I don't have to… share you… anymore?"

"Share me?"

"With a cop or a ranger or a bull rider or…"

She smiled gently. "Oh…do I hear jealousy?"

"Well, hell yes!"

"I'm sorry." she said with a heartbreaking sincerity, running her fingers down his face, "I didn't think you cared that much. They all paled next to you anyway, if you want to know the truth." Looking deeply into his eyes, she whispered, "I don't want anyone but you, Oscar." Her breath was warm on his skin as she gently kissed his cheek. "I hope you're okay with that."

"I'm definitely okay with that." A delicious lightheadedness was enveloping him. He moved his lips closer to hers.

"Now there's something _I_ need to know." she said, sitting up suddenly, with an indignant frown.

"What?"

"Are you capable of relaxing? Do you always jump out of bed so you can get back to work? Could we spend the night together? Is it possible that we could just…hang around… for hours on end, with no plans, just you and me?"

"Oh…" Oscar said with a sheepish grin, "that was my little strategy…so I could pretend you hadn't wormed your way into my heart. I'm sorry. I…wasn't very nice. You can't imagine how hard it was for me to do that. Physically painful."

"Glad to hear it." she replied, maintaining a slightly indignant air.

"Jaime…you…I'm…I…" Where was that inner poet? He was lost for words, transfixed by those green eyes. She looked at him so lovingly – trustingly. It was more than he had ever hoped for.

"What?" she asked gently.

He was sure he would never be able to tell her the depths of his love for her – but he would have to try. "Every minute I'm with you is the best minute of my life – _this_ is the best minute of my life – and every minute without you is miserable – a purgatory. I mean it. I am _desperately_ in love with you."

"Then we see things just the same way." she whispered, tears shining in her eyes. She took his battered face between her hands, and kissed him with all the tenderness she had suppressed for far too long. He felt as solid and as real under her fingertips as he ever had, but still, somehow, she could have sworn that he melted.


End file.
